


To Have A Home

by protectnevillelongbottom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Harry is a true DIY master, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Virginity, eventual oral sex, harry's a contractor sort of, harry's not an auror thank god, i'm bad at everything tbh, kreacher threatens harry a bunch and it's funny cause he cares, mostly happy vibes, ptsd mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-06-26 13:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19768960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectnevillelongbottom/pseuds/protectnevillelongbottom
Summary: Harry finds a curious, glowing piece of parchment in his Gringott's vault. Upon closer inspection, he discovers it's the deed to the long-lost Potter Manor.There's just one issue: the gate won't open and Draco Malfoy is the only one that can help him.





	1. 1

Harry looked to the ceiling, desperately hoping it held the answer as to why things like this always happened to him. All he had wanted to do was buy his godson a birthday gift, and now he’s suddenly a property owner. How does that even happen?

Harry sighed as he touched his wand to the cool metal of his vault, his breath slipping through his lips in wispy puffs that curled upward before disappearing. The heavy door lurched to the side, allowing him entrance. He took a moment just to stare at his fortune, which was beginning to look depleted and significantly different from the mountain of gold he remembered from when he was eleven. It used to be taller than him, but now only came up just above his knee. He was in no means struggling for money, and he really didn’t have to change anything about his spending habits at all, but if he wished to save money for the future he’d need to get a job. The only issue was that he quite enjoyed the time he was spending focusing on his hobbies.

Having visited his vault what seemed like a million times, Harry began shoveling coins into his small, drawstring bag without even a second look. It was only when a large pyramid of coins toppled over that he spotted it among the glittering gold. A piece of parchment was coiled up among the pieces, a slight blue glow surrounding it. Harry reached for it and the parchment emitted an orange spark once his fingers connected. He slowly unraveled the scroll, eyes flitting across the page as the words registered in his brain.

Panicking, he threw the scroll in his bag along with a few more coins and slipped out of the vault, watching it close behind him. The ride back to the lobby of Gringott’s was uneventful, but Harry still felt dizzy, as if he had been on a merry-go-round for an hour.

He apparated just outside the front door, tucking the large, wrapped present under one arm before knocking. The door creaked open seemingly on its own and Harry peered around it. “Hello?” His voice echoed through the foyer, but no one replied. He slipped inside and shut the door with an audible click. After standing there for a minute waiting for someone to greet him like usual, he ventured further into the house. He glanced into several rooms but found them all empty. Starting to feel rather embarrassed, he slinked into the kitchen.

Andromeda gave him a fond smile, her red lips turning up. Her eyes flitted over him, seemingly to assess him for any wounds. Harry stood there awkwardly, knowing she would do this every time he came over. He glanced around the kitchen and found a few more vaguely familiar faces. They were the parents of Teddy’s school friends, each one holding a glass of wine.

“I haven’t been in any trouble,” he joked, finally setting the present on the counter, separate from the others. “Er, my present is of the…special variety,” he stated with a pointed look at Andromeda.

She nodded and took a sip of her wine. Harry leant over the cake that was situated on the counter nearby and licked his lips. Andromeda shot him a look of warning, and Harry regrettably backed off. He rounded the island and pressed a polite kiss to her cheek. “Ron and Hermione should be arriving soon. Where’s the birthday boy?”

“In the garden, playing with his little friends.”

Wordlessly, Harry wandered out the French doors to the backyard. It was rather easy picking Teddy out of the crowd of pre-schoolers and parents. Harry silently wished Teddy’s muggle friends weren’t around, so that his hair could flash every color imaginable. He always loved seeing his godson so happy and excited.

“Uncle Harry!” Harry suddenly found himself with an armful of excited, wriggling six year old. Teddy clung to his leg, until Harry finally stooped down to lift him up. Teddy placed a great big, slobbery kiss on Harry’s cheek.

Grinning fondly, Harry reciprocated, but with a lot less wetness. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Can I open my presents now?” Teddy pleaded, his bottom lip protruding dramatically. Harry nearly rolled his eyes.

“You’ll have to ask your nana.” He set Teddy back on his feet and sat in a chair nearby. The garden was decorated in every color imaginable. Balloons were tied into animal shapes, mostly giraffes and dogs, and hanging off the back of every chair in the garden. A bounce house was set up in the corner, and several children were inside having the time of their lives, from what it looked like. Harry knew Teddy would drag him in there eventually. He just hoped it was over with before cake, otherwise he might get sick.

Somehow Harry got roped into playing football with Teddy and his friends. Him, Teddy, and a little girl were on one team, much to Teddy’s pleasure considering it was his birthday. Harry was making his way down the makeshift field in the yard, dribbling the ball between his feet, getting so close to the goal when three of his opposing team ganged up on him. His foot slipped over the ball and he landed flat on his back, quickly covered in five- and six-year-olds.

“No!” Harry laughed, trying to shield his face from an onslaught of poking. “Have mercy!” Eventually even the kids on his team were tackling him, even Teddy whose knee landed straight in Harry’s gut, knocking the wind out of him. He surrendered pretty quickly after that, but not before getting in a good tickle session with the birthday boy.

Harry couldn’t wait until his godson opened the present he bought. Andromeda had warned him that Teddy shouldn’t get a broomstick until his second year of Hogwarts, but Harry couldn’t resist. If anything, he could take it back home with him every time they were done using it, so that Teddy couldn’t get into it when Andromeda wasn’t looking. Harry reasoned with himself. Flying was a huge part of his life, especially now that he had the time to actually enjoy it, and he wanted to share it with his godson.

It wasn’t until days later that Harry went back to the wizarding bank, after staring at the scroll sat on his kitchen table for hours at a time. The blue glow around the parchment, he later found out, was a preservation charm, which led him to believe that it had been written hundreds of years ago.

Approaching a random goblin, a rather new one it looked like, Harry cleared his throat. The goblin set down its quill and gazed at Harry blankly. “Yes?” It’s beady eyes seemed to glare at him and he briefly wondered if they still hated him for breaking into the bank, stealing from a vault, and escaping on the back of their protective dragon.

Harry dug the scroll out of his bag and held it out. “I found this in my vault last week, and was wondering how it had come to be there.” He stood up straight as the goblin’s long, spiky fingers reached out for the parchment. His black eyes scanned it, before handing it back with a pointed look at Harry’s forehead.

“Magical Deeds and Realty. The left corridor, at the end.” Harry nodded his thanks and backed away towards the corridor, before turning completely and disappearing from view. He walked down the hallway, wishing that it hadn’t been raining outside as his trainers were now squeaking against the waxed floor. Every step could be heard echoing through the corridor.

He finally came to a stop outside the last office. There was a large sign on the door declaring, “MAGICAL DEEDS AND REALTY” and, in a slightly less offending size, “Draco Malfoy – Director.” Harry only had a few seconds to panic about seeing his longtime school nemesis before the door swung open sharply. 

The first thing Harry saw was the pale blonde hair, combed into a neat, respectable style just as it had been in their 8th year at Hogwarts. Malfoy sat behind a large wooden desk, leaning back in his chair but not lounging by any means. He beckoned Harry to come in and he did, standing awkwardly. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy barely looked shocked to see him standing in front of him. It had been several years since the last time they saw each other at Hogwarts. Though the Wizengamot was not particular to throwing Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, they were rather hopeful they could secure house arrest for him and his mother. For four hours he had argued with the court, insistent that they let Draco and Narcissa Malfoy go free. The former because he was merely a teen at the time, still heavily influenced by his father’s political views, and the latter because she had saved his life in the forest. After those tiresome hours, in which Harry had drank so much water to clear his dry throat that by the end he desperately needed to relieve his bladder but refused to on principle, they had finally cut a deal. Draco Malfoy would return to Hogwarts for his eighth year, after which he would be off scot-free, and Narcissa would be placed on a loose probation. All things considered, Harry assumed that was the best he would get so he agreed. 

“How can I help you, Mister Potter?” Malfoy began. Harry held himself back from snorting. Never in his life did he imagine Draco Malfoy calling him _Mister_. Though, Harry was never comfortable being addressed quite so formally anyway. Malfoy’s tone was merely professional, not a single hint of sarcasm or anger in sight. Harry was impressed, considering how he and Malfoy had gone toe-to-toe several times during that eighth year at Hogwarts, nearly getting them both expelled at one point.

Harry, caught up in the memory of holding Malfoy in a headlock, struggled to come up with a semi-intellectual response. However, speaking to Malfoy without sounding like an idiot had never been his strong suit, as he simply blurted out, “I have a house!”

One of Malfoy’s eyebrows rose slowly and his lips twitched, as if fighting off a smirk. Harry mentally kicked himself for being so ineloquent.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, and then, “I was grabbing coins from my vault when I came across this and I was just wondering… If you could tell me anything about it.”

Malfoy held his hand out. “May I?”

Harry was struck by the sheer politeness in Malfoy’s voice. He eagerly handed the document over, taking a seat across the desk from the blonde and wringing his hands together. Harry had had no idea Malfoy had gotten a job at Gringott’s, though, he admitted, he hadn’t really kept tabs on the bloke after they were free from the shared dorm at Hogwarts. Harry and Malfoy went their separate ways and had barely crossed paths since. Harry recalled only one or two times where he saw that white blonde hair disappearing behind a corner in Diagon Alley, but other than that he’d practically been a ghost in society. 

His eyes traveled around the neat office, lingering on a few framed photographs hung on the wall behind the desk. Harry could only make out one of the photos. Malfoy stood between his parents, all three of them looking quite put out as the wind seemed to whip through their pale hair, before the photograph reset.

The desk was covered in parchment. Stacks of file folders were on every corner, and scrolls upon scrolls of parchment piled up on any available space. A container of quills was nicely stocked on one edge, but it looked like it was about to topple over. Harry almost reached out to push it further onto the desk.

Pulling a magnifying glass out of a drawer, Malfoy took a closer look at the magical parchment.

“It appears, unless I’m mistaken, to be the deed to the Potter Manor,” Malfoy said with finality, setting down his tools and fixing Harry with a blank look.

“I’ve never—I mean, who does it—uh…where?” Harry asks stupidly, utterly flabbergasted by Malfoy’s piercing gaze. Something unnerved him about the blonde, but he couldn’t tell if it was something as a result of their going-on-twelve-years animosity or something completely different. 

“I’m assuming that means you’ve never been to said manor?” Harry just nods. “It’s in Surrey.”

That caught his attention right away. “Really? I’m surprised it’d be that close to…” he trailed off, looking off to the side. A silence grew between them as memories seemed to float through Harry’s head. After a few moments, he snapped out of it.

“Sorry,” he said again. “Um…is there an address listed? I never knew it existed before now. Do you think it will be…uh, never mind.”

Malfoy waved his wand and a file shot itself out of a cabinet behind him. He gingerly opened it and laid it flat against his desk. “9 Milford Lane, Weybridge, Surrey.” He handed Harry a piece of parchment with the address written in a fancy script.

“Thanks, uh, thank you, Malfoy,” he said earnestly. Malfoy gave him an odd look, as if he as well couldn’t believe that they had managed to have a civil, adult conversation. Malfoy nodded his farewell as Harry took his leave. The door clicked gently shut behind him and he made his way back down the corridor, shoes still squeaking obscenely.

Harry apparated directly into Ron and Hermione’s living room, startling the pair, whose bodies were slightly more visible than Harry was comfortable with.

“Shit, Harry!” Ron exclaimed, throwing his shirt over Hermione to cover her top. Harry hadn’t even noticed, too far in his head, and had just collapsed on the couch with a long, loud sigh. 

“Sorry for barging in” he mumbled, leaning his head back on the plush couch.

“It’s okay,” Hermione said while quickly pulling on Ron’s shirt, sitting next to him while Ron went to get dressed for work. She eyed him before asking, “What’s wrong?”

He wordlessly handed her the glowing deed, deeply wishing that if he leaned back far enough, the couch would swallow him whole. Hermione scanned the page quickly before her eyes shot up to his and she sank down on the sofa next to him. “Oh, Harry…” Her hand reached out to grip his forearm, nothing more than a comforting gesture that he appreciated. “Did you go see it?”

Before he could shake his head and say no, he hadn’t gone yet and he wished they would accompany him so that he didn’t end up crying on the floor of an abandoned building, Ron walked in wearing his bright orange Chudley Cannons shirt under the deep red Auror coat. Harry felt a surge of affection for his friend, whose allegiances never seemed to waver. “See what?”

Hermione passed Ron the scroll and waited in silence for him to finish reading.

It was Ron’s first full year of being an Auror. For a couple of years after they’d finished Hogwarts, Harry had helped Ron train for the exam. Ron had been disappointed to learn that being an Auror-in-training was dramatically different than being a full Auror. He was only allowed to observe cases most of the time, which seemed to frustrate him more than anything. Now he can actually lead a case, investigate, and even weigh in on other people’s cases. Harry noticed he’s definitely a lot happier now.

Hermione, however, has taken no time in moving up within the Ministry. She began as a secretary in the Muggle-Worthy Excuses division of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and her muggleborn status quickly became a tool for her to use and she became part of the committee within months of starting the job. Less than a year later she was already moving up to the DMLE, acting as a liaison for the Improper Use of Magic office. She spent a year and a half there, before applying for a position as part of Minister Shacklebolt’s support staff. Shacklebolt, knowing how hardworking and intelligent Hermione was, hired her without an interview. She now works closely with Shacklebolt and his team.

Harry was so proud of his friends that he sometimes wished he’d joined the workforce with them. He knew, however, that being an Auror was not a good fit for him. He still had nightmares from the war, and what the healer described as PTSD. He isn’t a deadbeat by any means, at least that’s what he thinks. He spends his time with his friends and his godson, often taking Teddy out to experience Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, since Andromeda did not like to be seen in public. His favorite place to take Teddy was to quidditch matches, where Ron often tagged along if he could get away.

After the war, Harry decided to return for his last year of school with Hermione and Ron, but ended up spending much of it helping Headmistress McGonagall rebuild. He still had no idea what kind of job he wanted, and several tea times with the Headmistress only served to confuse him more. Since the end of that year, McGonagall had asked him back several times as a guest speaker, and once as a substitute teacher for a week. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like those times. Being back at the school was difficult, but teaching reminded him of fifth year when all his friends stood by his side against Umbridge and the only death had been Cedric.

Harry also spent over a year on a muggle construction crew. Being able to build something, even just a wall, from the ground up without the use of magic helped him relax. He built up his strength and made quite a few friends along the way. He didn’t do it much lately. He wanted to focus on Grimmauld Place. He had made quite a few changes already, like getting rid of those horrid house elf heads and that noisy portrait of Sirius’ mother. He had opened a new vault in Gringott’s for the Black family heirlooms that he found. He didn’t necessarily want to keep them, but the thought of the latest generation of Blacks coming at him for destroying their family history made him shiver. 

“Where’d you find that?” he asked, looking up and passing the deed back.

“My vault.”

“Wicked. Do you think your dad--” Hermione sent a swift kick to Ron’s shin and he yelped. “Bloody hell! What was that for?”

But Hermione wasn’t listening to him. “Harry, do you want us to come with you?”

Harry’s cheeks burned, and he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him as he slowly nodded. He couldn’t believe he was twenty-three and still couldn’t make any big steps without his best friends by his side. He was scared of what he’d find at the property. Maybe he’d find portraits of his relatives. Maybe his dad still had a bedroom there, littered with quidditch magazines and school supplies. Or maybe it’d be empty. Harry couldn’t tell which he feared more—finding bits and pieces of his parents and other relatives’ lives, or finding nothing.

The gate wouldn’t open. Harry had tried pushing, pulling, a simple Alohamora, and even a blasting curse, but it wouldn’t budge. He’d thought it might recognize his magical signature, or something like that, and let him in, but the lock remained tightly shut. He grabbed one of the iron bars and rattled it back and forth furiously before letting go with a huff. He turned to Hermione.

“How come it won’t open? I’m supposed to be the owner, right?”

“That’s what the deed says, Harry,” Hermione replied, then quoted directly from the document, “ _’The position of Master of Potter Manor is to be given to the heir of the Potter family, upon the death of a previous heir. If multiple heirs present themselves, the oldest male shall be given the title of Master._ ’ So unless you have a long lost sibling…”

Harry was deep in thought, staring at the ground just on the other side of the gate. He couldn’t help but feel a jolt of hope. Maybe someone in his family was still alive and they’d been taking care of the Manor. A newfound excitement spread throughout his body, his mind racing. Who could it be? His parents? Grandparents? A long lost cousin? A grin started to form on his face as he thought about his possible alive family. Images of him surrounded by raven-haired witches and wizards, hazel eyes and wicked smirks floated through his brain. Spending Christmas holidays with them. Easter, or his birthday, or even just a casual Sunday dinner. God, he wanted that.

But then, he thought, visibly deflating, how is it possible that his parents came out of Voldemort’s wand, back in fourth year? How were they resurrected by the stone during the Battle? Harry wanted to yell out in frustration and pain, but only shot the ground a glare and, with one last look at the dark building beyond the iron bars, he apparated home.

Ron and Hermione popped into the lounge right behind him, and he busied himself making tea in the kitchen. They sat in silence around the table as the kettle heated. Harry pulled the scroll towards him and opened it again, eyes lingering on each word. He desperately wished it told him something about the Potter family. An itching in the back of his brain distracted him from his reading, and he knew that he had to be the Master. It was in his vault.


	2. 2

The next day he returned to Gringott’s, walking straight past the goblins and down the left corridor. He cursed himself for wearing the same, squeaky shoes. As he neared the door at the end, he silently rehearsed what he would say to Malfoy. After one swift knock, the door swung open just as it had last time. Malfoy set his wand to the side.

“Welcome back.”

Harry wondered if he was forced to say that to every customer. “Er,” he started, “Well I tried to get into my house, er, my manor, and the gate wouldn’t open. I didn’t know if there’s something else I should be doing to open it…?” He trailed off, hands wringing in his lap as Malfoy merely stared at him.

Finally, Malfoy sat up and leaned against the back of his chair, almost casually. “How did you try to open it?” The way Malfoy was looking at him was not the cruel or spiteful looks he was used to. There was humor in his eyes, but there was also something else. Something Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“I thought it would read my signature, so I just kind of tapped my wand against it. Then I tried a number of spells and even jumping the gate, but it just threw me back on the wrong side.”

“Interesting,” Malfoy simply said, giving Harry a calculated look. “Did you try asking it to let you in?”

Harry snorted, but Malfoy didn’t laugh. “Are you serious? Would that have worked?”

“It could have. Some gates are harder to break out of than the cells in Azkaban, unless you ask it nicely. I know my- Malfoy Manor has a particularly difficult gate, which is why I usually just apparate directly inside.”

Harry traveled back and forth from Gringott’s to his new manor a total of four times that day, each time walking back into Malfoy’s office even more agitated than before. “I’ve asked nicely, I’ve used spells, I’ve tried begging, and I even tried touching my blood to the gate, and I’ve gotten nothing!” he ranted, pulling up a chair opposite Malfoy and sitting with a huff. “Maybe it’s not meant to be mine.”

Despite the consistent interruptions, Malfoy only seemed amused every time Harry came back in. As soon as Harry had mentioned the blood part, his head had dropped forward and his shoulders shook with laughter. Harry just watched him for a moment, drinking in the sight of his former enemy laughing so openly in front of him. He had to admit, it was a pretty weird sight. Though, as Malfoy’s eyes crinkled at the sides and Harry saw an actual, genuine smile on his face for the first time in-- well, maybe _ever_ , Harry couldn’t help but stare. 

“Are you having me on?” Harry asked finally, lips turning up into a smile. His serious voice faltered when he said, “because I would like to get into my house, if you’d be so kind as to help me.”

Malfoy’s smile faded and he eyed Harry for a few moments, a thoughtful expression on his face. Suddenly he was up out of his chair and pulling a couple books off the shelf, flipping through them quickly. Harry briefly admired the plains of Malfoy’s back. The wide set shoulders cascading down into his small waist where it curved out slightly. Malfoy began mumbling to himself, which knocked some sense into Harry, but all he could decipher was the word “abandonment”.

“Uh…Pardon?” He tried, leaning forward to get a look at the page Malfoy was reading. The blonde ignored him in favor of the text, which Harry was more than used to after growing up with Hermione as his best friend. 

A pleasant, deep, woodsy scent clung to Harry’s senses, pulling him in further until he realized just how close he had leaned. His arse was barely on the chair anymore, and if he moved any further forward he would surely end up on the polished floor. He forced himself to move back, just to avoid that situation, despite something inside him telling him to move closer.

Malfoy’s lips were moving wordlessly as he focused, a strand of pale hair falling in his eyes as he hunched over. Harry briefly wished he could push it back, then shook those thoughts away. _It’s Malfoy_ , he told himself. Harry tried not to stare at him the whole time, awkwardly looking around the office again until Malfoy had finished.

“Here,” Malfoy flicked his wand and copied a few pages of the text, handing them to Harry. He glanced at them before doing a double-take.

“Abandonment? You’re saying the house has…depression?”

“It’s not unheard of. A magical residence needs care and nurturing just as much as its residents do. If things fall apart, they need to be fixed. If it's abandoned for a certain amount of time, like more than twenty years, it needs to trust you before you can enter. Read that,” he gestured to Harry’s hand, “and try those tips.”

Harry nodded and stood, delicately placing his chair back in the corner where he dragged it from. “Thanks.”

“And for Merlin’s sake wear some quieter shoes next time.” Malfoy’s tone was almost… teasing. Harry’s smile grew as he walked down the corridor.

The fireplace burned green for a moment before Hermione stepped through. Harry was busy in the kitchen making a pot of tea and packing up some biscuits for the road. Hermione pressed a kiss to his cheek and sat at the table, a round piece of cherry wood that Harry constructed himself.

He had repainted the entire house in white. Despite having very few windows, it felt much brighter in each room. The dungeon-like kitchen now felt like a normal kitchen, with new cabinets and even a muggle refrigerator. Sometimes Harry felt he had replaced the whole house, that there were no longer any memories lingering from his youth in this house, but other times Harry thought he needed to make this house the complete opposite of what it used to be. Maybe it was just for his peace of mind.

The living room furniture was replaced with cushy sofas and recliner chairs. The wood from the old kitchen table was repurposed into frames of pictures of Harry, Hermione, and Ron, the original Order of the Phoenix, the Weasley family, and a picture of his parents., all of which were hanging in the living room. Harry had wanted to keep the table, but it was falling apart. He replaced all the showers, toilets, and doors (except for Sirius’ and Regulus’). Harry made sure Kreacher was permanently placed in the Hogwarts kitchens while he did these renovations, otherwise he was sure the old elf would die on the spot.

Also hung up on the wall of the living room was his old broomstick, a Firebolt whose branches were frayed and broken after so many years of use. The handle of it had broken in two places. He’d dropped it when Death Eaters had attacked them on the journey from Surrey to the Weasley residence, but went back after the war to look for it. By his luck, it had been in the backyard of a sweet old muggle woman, who had merely waved to him from her kitchen window while he trespassed on her yard. 

Around a year ago, Harry had joined a minor league quidditch team. He had missed being on his broom during that last year of school, since eighth years weren’t able to join their house teams. He now had matches almost every Saturday during the season. He had bought himself another Firebolt for this purpose, despite newer models arriving in stores.

“Expecting company?” Hermione asked, her eyes circling the kitchen before landing back on him.

He was silent for a moment before he turned around and they made eye contact. “Okay, don’t laugh.” A smile was already starting to form. “I said don’t!” He passed her one of the pages Malfoy had given him.

“You’re going to have tea at your manor?” Harry nodded and finished packing his basket. “It’s an interesting idea. Mind if I join?”

Harry paused and thought for a moment. “I think I’d like to go alone this first time,” he glanced at his friend to gauge her reaction, and continued when she seemed fine. “I just want to establish a connection with it and then I can bring you guys.”

Hermione shrugged and gave him a smile. “Whatever you think is best, Harry. I know you’re eager to see what’s inside the manor, but I think taking your time is the most important part. You know how magical houses can be tricky to navigate. Remember this place when we first came here? We spent forever fixing it up, and it wasn’t abandoned as long as your place has been.” Her rant continued, “Harry I’m… worried. I don’t want you to shrink back into your own bubble when you finally get inside. I know it’ll be hard to see evidence of your family, but you have to remember to talk to us, okay? Remember what that healer told you?”

Harry nodded.

“Please talk to us if you feel like closing up. I know you don’t need babying, but remember when you found that other letter in Sirius’ old room?” Harry flinched at his godfather’s name. Hermione walked over to him and gave him a tight hug. “We will be there for you, so don’t shut us out.”

Harry gave her a peck on the cheek and a hug before grabbing his basket. “I’ll floo you with any updates,” he said as he made his way to the front door.

The gates looked unchanged, the same black, heavy iron that had kept him out for the past week. Harry was determined. He needed to find out what was inside. His parents had been gone for over twenty years and every piece of evidence from their lives that he had found so far had been a blessing and a curse. He loved his parents with every fiber of his being, loved finding out new things that no one had told him of them, and he loved discovering the similarities between himself and his parents. But with every new shred of information, the fact that he would never actually see his parents alive and in the flesh sunk lower in his stomach until it felt like an anvil weighing him down.

He pressed his back to the gate and slid down into a sit at its base, setting the basket of tea next to him. He took a moment to just feel the air around the grounds. He sensed a sadness, but could not decipher whether it was the house or himself.

He pulled open the basket and pulled out the thermos of tea and a baggie of biscuits. He also grabbed a small plate and a teacup before turning the basket over and using the top as a makeshift table. He wanted this to be as formal as possible. He poured the tea, added a cube of sugar, and stirred.

This certainly must have looked odd to passersby, but the nearest neighbor seemed to be more than a mile away from where Harry sat. He attempted to clear his mind, pointedly trying to erase thoughts of how stupid having tea outside the locked iron gate of your abandoned mansion would look to someone strolling by. He drank slowly, methodically, and took a bite of biscuit precisely after every third sip of tea. He needed to be present for this.

He wasn’t sure how long he should stay, or whether he should try the gate again before he left. He knew it wasn’t an exact science, that this was the first time he’d spent more than ten minutes here and this time he wasn’t angry or frustrated at all. For all he knew, the gate may choose to open by itself when it trusts him.

When he finished the tea, he repacked the basket and stood. He considered tugging on the gate once, just to check, but instead decided to merely rest his forehead against it for a moment before apparating away.

The next day he went back to the gate and did the same thing, only this time he decided to try talking to the house.

“I think… at some point my parents both lived here. They were in love. My mom’s sister didn’t like her very much, so that must have driven her from home. I didn’t know any of my grandparents; I suspect they lived here as well. I really don’t know anything about them other than the fact that they died either before I was born or shortly after… I want to know more about my family. I want to know things I can pass on to my kids, stories…”

He sighed and looked up at the sky. “Sometimes I think it’s best I let my parents go, but all I knew of them for so long is what other people had told me. I wish I could discover things for myself.” He sat in silence for long moments, watching the clouds roll by in the sky.

He stood up and patted the gate. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hermione and Ron tagged along with him on the next trip to the manor. It was a dreary day, the sky full of dark clouds. Hermione had made a small loaf cake for them to snack on with tea. They sat under umbrellas on the sidewalk outside the gate like it was perfectly normal for three adults to do so while having tea and cake, catching up on the latest news from the Ministry.

“I’m telling you!” Ron laughed, “He had to have been about one hundred and fifty! And he tried to run away using one of those muggle razor blades!”

Hermione corrected, “Razor _scooters_ , Ron.”

Harry choked on his cake, coughing and sputtering before bursting out laughing. “No way,” he wheezed, “one of _those_?” He had laughed so hard he started to hold his sides from pain.

“Oh, right, yes. In the end we let him get a little bit ahead of us and then used a quick tripping jinx. No more breeding dragons for that old coot!” Ron took another bite of the cake and leaned back against the gate in pride.

Harry glanced past the gate onto the grounds. It was quite foggy, and he could barely make out the shape of the mansion in the distance. He’d hoped bringing his friends for tea would help the house trust him, but he didn’t notice any changes in it. He sighed and sipped his tea as it grew colder, tuning back into the conversation.

“-think Kingsley is beginning to hate his position as Minister,” Hermione had been saying. “He’s been coming by my cube for the past week. He never used to do that.” She poured herself another half cup of tea and wrapped her hands around the mug to stay warm. “And he’s been giving me tips, too. Like the other day he said, ‘the best way to get a promotion is to ask for one’. Isn’t that odd? I just had a promotion a month ago.”

Ron jokingly said, “Maybe he wants you to be Minister.”

Hermione hummed. “That’s what I was thinking. On Tuesday he had me go to his office and he gave he a list of the duties he has to do. Not that he does all of them so much as he delegates them, but I thought it a bit weird. Do you think he’ll make me his personal secretary or something?”

Harry though for a moment before nodding. “It sounds like he’s planning on giving you some sort of promotion, but he’s talking in riddles.” He finished the rest of his tea and handed his empty mug to Hermione, who packed it back up in the basket they brought. The cake was gone at this point, finished off by Ron who had just licked his fingers clean.

As they packed up to leave, Harry took another long glance at the house in the distance and whispered, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Harry went back the next day. And the next day, and the next. Ron and Hermione tagged along for another day, then his friend Luna had come. Harry had asked all his friends to come, despite it sounding like an odd way to spend a couple of hours. Neville had passed, too busy with his flourishing business, but told Harry once he gets in he’ll gladly do some landscaping if Harry would like. Dean and Seamus were on their honeymoon currently and could not come. Molly, Arthur, Charlie, George, Ron, and Ginny came with him one day, and they spent several hours chatting and chowing down on the sandwiches Molly had brought for the crowd.

Harry was beginning to feel lost and hopeless. He’d been there for more than two weeks straight and the gate hadn’t loosened up at all. He was trying not to doubt Malfoy, against his better judgement, mainly because he was one of the only people he knew who had a manor to take care of. He could use someone with experience. 

Harry had gone back to Malfoy’s office several more times over the last fortnight, despite there really being nothing that the blonde could do for him. Harry always found an excuse to pop in, whether it be because the gate moved a millimeter, or because Harry thought he might have seen something move past the gates. 

If Malfoy had been annoyed by his frequent visits, he never expressed it. In fact, he was more than pleasant every single time Harry was in his office. Harry never could have fathomed that he would actually enjoy spending time with Draco Malfoy, especially after everything they had gone through. After all the times they had fought, dueled, thrown insults at each other, how could Harry so desperately want to reach out and touch that blonde hair, run his fingers along the curve of Malfoy’s jaw, and maybe even interlock their fingers together. 

Harry had tried to tame himself, but thoughts about Malfoy infiltrated his every day. He eventually gave in, letting himself think, imagine, what it would be like to be friends with Malfoy. Maybe even something more.


	3. 3

The next Saturday, Harry had the first quidditch match of the season. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm with a slight breeze that flowed through the grass at Harry’s feet. He was getting a feel for the pitch before the game started, breathing in the scent of the freshly cut grass. The Weasley family, including Ginny who was on a professional team, attended, and took up a whole row of seats near the front of the stands. Luna, Neville, Hermione, and surprisingly enough, Malfoy also showed up. Harry had only invited him in passing, just to fill up the awkward space in his office after Malfoy had caught Harry staring at him for too long. He felt it was more appropriate than professing his attraction to Draco, somewhat of a neutral topic they could both relate over. He had never expected him to come, but there he sat next to Luna. Seamus and Dean, finally back from their honeymoon, were dressed in their old Gryffindor garb, despite Harry’s new team colors being green and white.

He swung a leg over his broom and took off into the air, muttering a quick spell to attach his glasses to his face so they wouldn’t fall. He flew around the pitch a few times before hovering near the stands. He heard Mrs. Weasley shout, “Be careful Harry!” Ginny, sat next to her, rolled her eyes and mouthed what looked like the word “buzzkill”. Harry just laughed and winked at Ginny before taking off around the pitch again.

He could have sworn he saw a white-blonde head turning to stare up at the Weasley clan right before he took off.

The game started shortly after and Harry couldn’t find the snitch anywhere. After forty-five minutes of circling the pitch, the other team’s seeker on his tail, he still came up short. He thought he’d seen it over the opposite team’s stands, but it had just been a muggle camera that someone had brought in. He pulled up near the keeper of his own team and hovered for a few moments, looking around.

“Alright Harry?” Barnaby, the keeper, questioned.

He nodded. The quaffle was at the other end of the pitch and the two of them watched the chasers fight for it. “It’s good to be back on the pitch,” Harry said conversationally.

A bludger suddenly broke through the cluster of people and brooms at the other side of the pitch and looked like it was heading their way. Harry shouted, “Look out!” but the ball was coming too fast. Barnaby, who had been trying to clear his glasses, couldn’t move in time. As a last resort, Harry steered his broom in front of the bludger. The ball struck him in his left shoulder, making him cry out, and then bounded off for the other side of the pitch. Pain bloomed in his shoulder, all the way down to the tip of his index finger. He hunched over on his broom and tried to breath through the stabbing sensation.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered. He had to make a decision. Either he could fly to the ground and pause the game, or he could keep playing with only one arm.

He felt amazing despite losing the match and hurting his shoulder. He’d forgotten how much he loved playing and even just training for the games. In Harry’s lack of mobility, the other team’s seeker was able to catch the snitch before him, but he honestly hadn’t cared that much.

As the team headed off for the showers, the coach stopped him and demanded he get his arm checked out. Harry sighed and obeyed. Luckily the healer was quick. She pressed a potion to his chest and instructed him to take it. It tasted slightly of peppermint and felt icy cool sliding down his throat. The pain faded away and Harry started to get up, but the healer pushed him back down in his seat.

“We have to reset it,” she informed him. He had tried to reply, had tried to ask what that would entail and how much it would hurt, but she jerked his arm up and back into the socket before he could. “Fuck!” He shouted, glaring at the healer for putting him through this. Though he knew he really had done this to himself. She placed an ice pack on his shoulder and told him to stay put for ten minutes.

“It’s nice to see that your hero complex hasn’t faded over the years,” someone said behind him. He turned to see Malfoy leaning against the outside wall of the locker room. The sunlight was so bright that Harry had to squint to see his face. All he wore was an old t-shirt and some fancy, dark wash jeans that accentuated how long his legs were.

Harry wondered what those legs would look like without any trousers, and then shook his head. He couldn’t help that Malfoy was such a distraction lately, but he had to focus. Though at the moment, he couldn’t quite remember what he was supposed to be focusing on.

“Oh, hey,” Harry said casually, and then chuckled. “Yeah I guess I have a habit of saving people from pain.”

“If you’d let that bludger hit the keeper you probably would have won,” Malfoy pointed out.

Harry scoffed and pulled the ice pack off his shoulder. He thanked the healer and apologized for his bad language while she was fixing his arm. “I don’t think I care much about winning,” he started as the two walked out of the pitch and towards the apparition spot nearby, “I like to play and I like being on a broom in the air. And it’s the minors anyway, so a lot of us are here just for fun.”

They walked in silence for a few moments before Harry spoke up. “You didn’t have to come.”

“You invited me,” was Malfoy’s reply, “and I wanted to come.” On a whim, Harry grabbed his wrist and pulled him behind a tree.

“I only invited you because…well, I wanted to stop myself from…” Harry stopped short, staring up into Malfoy’s eyes. “I-“ he tried again, but the words wouldn’t come. He could not look away from Malfoy. His eyes darted from his chin to his eyebrows to his lips to his eyes, even down to his chest, and everywhere in between. His brain had gone blank and in his attempts to distinguish Malfoy’s eye color from the reflection of the green trees around them, he had forgotten that he was still holding the blonde’s wrist.

He squeezed it lightly before letting go, but found that he missed the physical contact. Harry found himself leaning closer and decided to place his hand on Malfoy’s outer arm, close to his shoulder, for balance. At least that’s what he told himself.

“Stop yourself from,” Malfoy paused, watching Harry, “what, exactly?”

Harry was sick of the suspense. He wanted this and he would deal with any consequences later. His unoccupied hand flew up to cup Malfoy’s jaw, and even though that was his hurt shoulder and pain began radiating down his arm again, he could barely feel it. Malfoy’s hand, which he had wrapped around Harry’s elbow, felt white hot.

They both leaned in, eyes closing, but before they could press their lips together, Harry heard someone say, “Harry, dear! There you are!” They both pulled back quickly and Harry reluctantly let go of Malfoy’s arm. Draco’s fingers lingered on Harry’s elbow, but retreated as well when the source of the voice arrived.

Mrs. Weasley rounded around the tree to find them and immediately pulled Harry into a rib-crushing hug. The whole Weasley clan followed behind her, and he saw some raising their eyebrows at the sight of Malfoy leaning on the nearby tree.

“You played wonderfully, sweetheart,” Mrs. Weasley assured him. Harry smiled and accepted hugs from all his friends, including Ginny which made Mr. and Mrs. Weasley nudge each other. Despite them knowing he was gay, they still held onto some blind hope that he and Ginny would get together. As far as Harry knew, Ginny didn’t want to be with him either, as she’d recently reconnected with Michael Corner. 

Neville clapped him on the back, while Luna pressed a kiss to his cheek and hugged him. Dean and Seamus both hoisted him into the air in celebration, even though Harry insisted they put him down and that there wasn’t a reason to celebrate because his team had lost.

“That’s the fun of it!” Seamus yelled, giving him a friendly push.

Ron and Hermione both approached him. “Mum’s making a roast for dinner. Says if you want to come you’re welcome to.” Hermione shot a meaningful glance over Harry’s shoulder, and he turned around to see Malfoy still there, but looking more impatient and uncomfortable by the moment.

He gave his best friends a quick hug and insisted that he was going home to clean up and then he’d join them. Once they were all headed for the apparition point, Harry grabbed Malfoy’s arm. “Thanks for staying. And coming in general,” he quickly added, looking nervously up at the blonde. They began walking to the apparition point together, in silence at first.

“Of course,” Malfoy said politely.

“If you want to join us, I-“

“No, thank you. I really should be getting home.” Malfoy interrupted. Harry nodded and watched as the other man stepped onto the apparition spot and disappeared with a crack. He sighed and followed suit, coming to a stop in the middle of his living room and trekking up to the bathroom.

He turned on the tub to its hottest setting and stared at himself in the mirror until it was so fogged over he couldn’t distinguish himself from the wall behind him.

The burrow was as crowded as ever when he arrived, with the usual crowd of kids running in and out of the house and a pickup quidditch game going on in the backyard. Harry opened the door as Victoire, followed by what looked like a harried Fleur. She stopped to give him a kiss on each of his cheeks and a hug before running after her daughter.

Someone took the bottle of wine he was carrying, but he didn’t remember who as he was greeted by what seemed like every Weasley in existence. He finally made it to the living room and collapsed beside Ron, who seemed to have broken into the wine early. As the night went on, the whole family talked, ate, laughed, drink, and played numerous games, but mostly drank. It seemed like every room in the house was going to be used as a bedroom tonight, as no one was in any shape to apparate home.

Harry and Ron ended up in Ron’s old room, the garishly orange Chudley Cannons posters beginning to fray at the corners. Hermione arrived to the room a short while later and laid down with Ron on the opposite side of the room. Harry had some brief, nostalgic feelings, remembering how they spent months in a tent together. Ron and Hermione both fell asleep quickly, the sound of their rhythmic and slow breathing making Harry’s eyes drift shut. Before he could fall completely asleep, however, the door opened.

Ginny nudged Harry’s arm and he forced his eyes open. “Hmm?” he asked, watching as she pushed at his arm again.

“Budge over,” she commanded in a whisper. He rolled his body towards the wall to make room for her and she laid beside him. They faced each other, sharing the pillow. “When are you going to tell him?”

“Tell who? What?” Harry said, confused and half asleep. He pulled the covers back up to his shoulder, giving Ginny some, but not all, of them.

She yanked the blanket more on her side and sighed. “Malfoy.” But Harry barely heard her, eyes falling shut. She kicked him swiftly in the shin and he yelped.

“What was that for?” he muttered, reaching down to rub his leg.

“Don’t fall asleep on me next time,” she warned. “When are you going to tell Malfoy that you’re in love with him?”

Harry sat up. “In love with- I’m not in love with him!” A light flashed through the room from the window and soon after Harry heard the patter of raindrops on the glass. Ginny just stared at him, expectantly, with an eyebrow raised. “I’m not!” Harry insisted. “Alright, I like him. I don’t know about _love him_. What more do you want me to say?”

“Alright, fine.” Ginny replied, scooting closer to him. “Give me some more blanket, you complete arse.”


	4. 4

On Monday, Harry had quidditch practice. It was hot outside, the sweltering sun beating down on him during the whole practice. He knew he smelled terrible, could barely stand the scent of his quidditch uniform by the end of it. Sweat dripped freely down his face as he bounded off the pitch, robes caked in mud.

It was in this condition he decided to stop by Gringott’s, a decision he regretted as soon as he stepped into the lobby. Witches and wizards turned to look at him and goblins sneered when he walked through the lobby to the corridor. Surprisingly, his shoes did not squeak the whole way down to Malfoy’s office. He stopped just short of the door and tried to _Scourgify_ his uniform, but the mud left brown stains on all the white patches of his clothes. After a few more attempts, he simply waved his wand to clean up his face and glasses and opened the door. He really wished he’d stopped to shower before coming here.

Malfoy-- _Draco_ , Harry supposed, sat behind his desk, perfectly postured while he furiously scribbled on a piece of parchment. When Harry walked in, Draco didn’t react, which made him think the worst. Was he regretful of their almost-kiss? Did he hate Harry for getting them caught? It wasn’t really his fault that the Weasley’s snuck up on them. He hoped the blonde wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with him. Though it wasn’t as if the reaction would be overwhelmingly positive if the two of them _were_ seen together. 

“Just one moment,” Draco claimed, writing a few more words and then signing his name at the bottom. He folded the parchment delicately and slipped it into an envelope, using the Gringotts seal to close it. “Now, what can I help you with?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to say it. Whether he should explain first or go with his gut. Explaining would be the reasonable thing to do, but then there’s the opportunity for rejection that Harry doesn’t think he could handle. He figured it was best to beg for forgiveness if it doesn’t work out. What’s life without a little risk? 

He walked around Draco’s desk and asked, “Do you trust me?”

“Not really.”

“ _Will_ you trust me?” Harry emphasized. 

Draco stared at him incredulously, seeming to search for something in Harry’s earnest expression, and finally stood up from his chair. Harry offered him his arm, hoping that he’d take it. Draco’s fingers felt soft and rigid at the same time as they wrapped around his elbow. Harry gripped his wand and apparated them.

The gate looked the same as every other time he’d been here, solid and unbreakable. To be honest, this was his last-ditch effort to open the gate. He’d been here every day for weeks it seemed and the iron hadn’t loosened up in the slightest.

“Is this…?” Draco trailed off, staring through the iron bars at the outline of the mansion in the distance. He spun around to face Harry, looking him in the eyes. “Why did you bring me here?”

Harry reached out, gripping Draco’s elbow and pulling him closer. Backing himself up against the fence, he continued to reduce the space between them until he could feel Draco’s breath ghosting across his face. He looked up into the blonde’s eyes and then down to his mouth before finally, gently pressing his lips to the other man’s. After a moment, first their lips parted and then their bodies did.

It was over and one quick look at Draco’s face made Harry panic. He ran his hand through his hair a grand total of four times just in the thirty second silence that followed their kiss. His eyes darted from Draco to the gate behind him and back again. He eventually stepped closer and grabbed Draco’s wrist.

“Look, I…like you, alright? I don’t see the point in skipping around the fact anymore. Of course I felt like you may like me too since we almost kissed the other day, but let’s be honest, I’m not the most observant person. If you don’t like me though that’s fine and I’m sorry for kissing you without talking about it first but I’m on my last leg with this house. I’ve been here everyday, I’ve tried everything you said, and that was the only thing I could think of that might convince it that I intend to stay. Those _tips_ you gave me said an emotional connection was necessary and I thought maybe if I showed it some vulnerability or made a memory for it, maybe it'd open. I didn’t know what else to do.” Harry finished, and then quickly threw in another, "I'm really sorry." He threw his back against the gate and sank down to the ground.

Draco took a step forward and the first word of his reply was halfway out of his mouth when something miraculous happened. A loud scraping sound erupted from the gate and Harry jerked in surprise, his head turning so fast he felt dizzy. Or maybe that had been the effect of the kiss and the-- _what he thought was_ \-- disastrous reaction. The iron bars of the gate slowly, slowly separated and swung open.

Harry stood up quickly, his eyebrows rose as he watched the fog on the grounds clear. He could actually see the gargantuan size of the house and entire property now, and he was blown away. It was five times bigger than he initially thought. There was clearly an extension charm on the inside of the gate, because when Harry peeked his head around the corner, he couldn’t see the end of the yard, but when he stood outside the gate, it was only several metres wide. 

“It…worked. It worked!” He laughed, grabbing onto Draco’s shoulder and pulling him in for a hug. It was so quick that Draco didn’t even get a chance to hug back before Harry let go and started excitedly bouncing on his toes. The concrete path to the house was now visible, but was still covered in overgrowth from the lawn.

Harry was busy pressing his forehead into the gate like he’d done on numerous occasions in the last few weeks when Draco urged him to turn around. When he did, he was met with another pair of lips on him. Those soft, familiar ones that he’d imagined so many times in the past month. The ones he had just kissed moments before. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and tilted his head to slot their lips together, trying not to smile or laugh in excitement. He finally had to break the kiss, unable to contain his wide grin.

“Can we…Will you come with me?” Harry started, and then changed his question.

“Of course I will,” Draco assured, his grip on Harry’s arm slipping down until they were holding hands. The pair stood at the edge of the gate, peering at the house in the distance, and then Harry slowly took his first step onto his new, inherited property.

The grass on either side of the path perked up near his foot, suddenly changing from the sandy brown, dead color to the lushest, most vivid green Harry had seen in his life. Each step resulted in more color, more plants that recovered from more than twenty years of absence. The trees immediately began to bloom as he passed them, pedals sprinkling down like the gentlest snowfall. The whole experience was, ironically, magical. Harry could hear birds chirping across the yard, a breeze rustling through the leaves of the- of _his_ trees. He felt more alive than when he was playing quidditch. And speaking of the game, his new yard was plenty big for a regulation-sized pitch to practice on.

The toe of his shoe hit a slab of concrete and he finally looked away from the scenery around him to see the beginning of a short staircase, leading up to a front door. Without thinking, he took the step, and the next and the next, until he was pressing his palm against the front doors. 

Harry heard Draco scoff next to him, and when he looked, Draco only said, “Of course the door is red. Bloody Gryffindors.” Harry laughed and gave the blonde a friendly shove, catching him when he almost fell backwards down the front steps. Harry’s hand slid to the knob, fingers circling the brass and feeling the shape of it in his palm. 

He hesitated. 

He knew, logically, that there was a possibility he would not like what he found on the other side of the door. It could all be gone. There was no way of knowing until he turned his wrist and pushed. But he couldn’t. It was all too much. When he walked on the grounds, his hopes shot up that maybe everything would be fine as long as he was on the premises, but a pull in his gut reminded him that no one had been there for years to maintain it. 

What would he do if there was nothing left? It’s possible he could rebuild, but he had no memory of ever being in this place. There was no way he could restore it to its former glory. At least, his imagination made it seem glorious. For all he knew, it could look like the Burrow. That’d be nice. Cozy shag rugs surrounded by mismatched couches and chairs, the essence of functionality. Or it could look like Malfoy Manor, dark marbled floors with rooms that held nothing but a few sculptures to take up space. Not that he’d exactly gotten a clean look around the place when he had last been there. 

He felt a hand rest on the small of his back, comforting.

“I don’t think I can…” He almost whispered, avoiding eye contact with the blonde. 

“Let’s go back,” Draco suggested, pulling Harry into his side and turning away from the doors. “We can grab a pint if you’d like.”

That made Harry laugh. “It’s just past two.”

“I think we’ve earned it,” Draco justified as they walked down the path back towards that gate. Harry had trouble pulling it closed; not because the gate wouldn’t close, but because part of him was certain that he couldn’t open it back up again. After a little convincing from Draco, they apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

The space at the bar was still sticky from spilled drink, but they both took a seat and leaned their elbows on it anyway. Harry’s uniform was still caked in mud, despite even Draco’s attempts to freshen it up. 

“It’s no use,” Harry had said, “I’ll need to use the muggle wash for it.” 

After a pint and a half and a lull in the conversation, Harry chanced a look around the bar. Most of the inhabitants were at tables with their mates, laughing and drinking the day away. At the table closest to the exit, a group of tall men in button down shirts and slacks were shouting and laughing with each other. Harry thought they looked like a group on lunch from the Ministry. Harry’s eyes continued to scan the place for anyone he recognized until it landed on a familiar sandy-brown head. 

Harry wasn’t sure who exactly was the man Neville was sitting next to, engaging in conversation with, but he figured he might as well wave his fellow Gryffindor over. Neville’s head perked up and he waved back at Harry, but raised his eyebrows and stared pointedly at Draco when Harry beckoned him to join them. Harry just rolled his eyes and jerked his head to indicate that Neville better get over here soon or else. 

Neville spent a moment talking to his table-mate and then excused himself, heading towards the bar. 

“Hello Harry,” he greeted. “Draco,” he nodded at the blonde when Draco turned to look at him.

“Hullo Longbottom,” Draco returned politely, taking a sip of his pint.

There was a momentary silence before Harry asked Neville about his business, which launched him into an interesting conversation over the possibility of opening another location of his shop. After Hogwarts, Neville had become quite the entrepreneur, launching first his massive new garden complete with new hybrid species on the grounds of his manor, and then his retail shop which included not only flowers and plants for any special occasion one could imagine, but certain rare plants and herbs that may be needed for potion brewing and remedies for healing as well. Harry had gone to visit his shop numerous times, specifically because the man makes the best bruise reducer in the country, at least in Harry’s opinion. Quidditch is no match for Longbottom’s Revitalizing Remedy for Bruises and Burns. 

Their conversation drifted to the plans for the new shop, construction and whatnot, which certainly got Harry’s attention. A piece of parchment spread out between them, sketching and erasing and redrawing the layout. This was what Harry liked. Being able to see all the steps in a plan and then executing them to perfection. Creating new layouts for specific instances, like a plant shop. Soon enough, Harry was offering to help Neville with the construction, with the latter wizard urgently accepting.

“I’ve been meaning to drop by, anyway, because with the new shop opening, I can’t exactly run both of them myself. I was hoping you’d help…?” Neville trailed off, a hopeful hum at the end of his proposal. 

Harry took a generous gulp of his pint, taking a moment to think over the offer. “Like a manager?” He finally asked. 

“If you want,” Neville replied. “Take some time to think it over if you’re unsure. Come by the shop on Friday so we can put those blueprints together like you mentioned, alright? I’ll see you then, mate. Draco.” Neville stood up and patted Harry on the shoulder, nodding towards Draco, and then retreating back to his previous seat across the bar.

Harry sucked down the last of his beer before standing up as well. “I best get you back to your office before the day’s out,” he chuckled, meaningfully placing his hand over Draco’s on the bar. “I’m sure you’ve plenty of important meetings to get to, now that you’re half drunk.” At this, Harry outright laughed, and Draco finally got out of his seat. 

“Says the man who had twice the pints as me and even stole my last one,” Draco quipped, turning his hand so they could press their palms together. They strode out of the Leaky, leaving behind a few galleons for the barkeep, and towards Gringott’s. Draco casually let go of Harry’s hand, only to have the green-eyed wizard link arms with him.

“M’sorry,” Harry confessed, overtly attempting to walk as if he wasn’t struggling, which made his walk even stranger. “I didn’t mean to leave you out when talking to Nev.” 

“It’s alright,” Draco replied, trying not to smile at the hilarious way that Harry was walking. His ankles seemed to wobble with every step and he clung tighter to Draco’s arm the closer they got to their destination. Draco had a fleeting thought of a baby deer trying to walk for the first time after being born. In the effort to not look drunk, Harry was taking overly cautious steps that backfired, making him look like a lunatic. “I even have a few ideas on retail space, if he’s still looking for it that is. And if he’d accept my help as well, I suppose.”

“Nev’s cool,” Harry insisted as they reached the steps to Gringott’s. “I’ll let him know.”

Draco nodded, looking down as Harry faced him. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw the way Harry was looking at him. As if in awe, although Draco didn’t think he’d done anything quite worthy of that reaction. He cleared his throat and gently unlocked their arms. “I’ll write you then,” he said politely, unsure of what to say.

“What are you, going off to war now?” Harry asked jokingly, and then laughed at his own jest. If there were two people in the entire wizarding world that could joke about war, it would be them. Draco broke out in a grin, staring down at the shorter man. 

Harry pecked him on the cheek and wished him a good rest of the day at work, and then apparated on the spot.


	5. 5

Harry apparated home and the worry immediately set in. What if the house was in such disrepair that his presence wouldn’t be enough to fix it? Obviously he’s handy and he can renovate it without an issue, but the memories of what the property used to be would be tarnished. Just look at what he did to Grimmauld Place. He completely changed it, barely keeping anything that reminded him of what the house used to look like, aside from his memories of course. Most of it was either locked away at Gringott’s or destroyed. Harry briefly wondered if he had desecrated the House of Black by changing everything, and then reminded himself that most of that family had been awful to him, with the exception of Andromeda, Draco, and Sirius. He wanted to keep as much of the memory of the manor as possible, but doubt was starting to kick in. 

It had been more than twenty years since anyone had set foot on that property. When he did this afternoon, he didn’t really expect so much to change, and it gave him a fleeting hope that just stepping into the foyer or the kitchens would allow the house to restore itself to its former glory. But there was also the possibility of losing those memories, those connections to his parents that were tied to the manor. 

He didn’t know what to expect, so obviously he enlisted the help of his two best friends. Of course, unlike him they both worked full time jobs, so convincing them to ditch work tomorrow to help him was pretty shallow of him. If anything, he should wait for the weekend. And if he couldn’t wait....well, then he’d just have to go at it alone. 

For now, he settled on lounging on the sofa and watching the muggle telly.

That Friday, Harry had been putting the finishing touches on the bathroom on the fourth floor, setting up a couple shelves to hold towels and such, when he heard a familiar woosh from several floors below. 

“Harry?” He heard Ron call. 

He leaned over the banister and shouted, “Fourth floor!” He waited until he heard the creak of footsteps on the first flight of stairs and then continued his work in the loo. Only a moment passed before Ron was joining him, leaning against the doorway. Harry nodded in greeting and hammered a nail into the wall, precisely where he wanted it.

“I ran into Neville yesterday,” Ron finally started. Harry raised his eyebrows, focused on the damned shelves he was trying to install. He wasn’t ignoring the redhead, just needed to get that project done soon so he could go meet with Neville about the new shop. “Said you were having a few pints with Malfoy earlier this week.” 

“I did,” Harry confirmed, finally screwing the first shelf into place before he had to start the next one. 

“Well…are you dating him?”

“Neville? Of course not.”

“Malfoy,” Ron clarified with a quiet sigh. He handed Harry another screw when he moved to grab one.

Harry was silent for a moment as he screwed it in tight, holding the shelf in place. “I don’t think so. We’ve only really gone for drinks at the pub.” He threw the rest of his supplies back in his toolbox and urged Ron out of the loo, following behind him. “Are you only here to interrogate me or are we going for lunch?” 

“Lunch, yes,” Ron agreed, following Harry down the staircase and into the kitchen. They quickly packed up a basket full of sandwiches and pumpkin juice and proceeded to side-along apparate to the gate of the manor. 

Harry had been distraught when he arrived at the gate on Tuesday, after opening the gate the day before, just to see that the fog had returned and there was no sign of that luscious green grass that had appeared. It looked the same as it had since he’d discovered it, but he found as soon as he touched the gate, the fog again dissipated and the plants grew more colorful. He’d wondered if the mist and the abandoned look were just for the manor’s defense.

Harry turned towards his friend, a small smile playing on his lips. He pressed his hand against the gate and it immediately unlocked and began to swing inward. Ron’s mouth flew open.

“You opened it?” He questioned immediately, watching as the trees bloomed beyond the gate and the path formed. 

“On Monday,” Harry replied as he stepped onto the path and continued further onto the property, Ron following in awe. Halfway to the mansion, Harry veered to the left and pushed through a line of trees to find an open meadow. 

“Woah,” exclaimed Ron as he took in the scenery around him. The open field full of soft, beautiful grass and dotted with flowers and trees was truly a sight to behold, Harry could admit. This was his fourth day in a row having lunch in this field because he loved how cushiony the grass was under a blanket. He could honestly spend forever out here watching the clouds and then the stars after the sunset.

He pulled the usual blanket out of his basket and opened it up, spreading it on the grass under a tree nearby and placing the basket in the center. So far, this was his favorite tree. It was more wide than it was tall, and the branches cast wicked shadows on the grass below, but when he looked closer at the trunk there was something that nearly brought tears to his eyes when he first saw it. Etched into the bark, with a knife or maybe even magic, were the letters “LE + JP”. His parents. He briefly wondered if his father had been the one to carve it out of hope for a relationship with his mother, or if they’d done it together. He imagined a day where they spent hours on this very lawn, laughing and watching the day go by. 

Their lunch was simple, so simple it was gone within a few minutes, but afterward they laid on the grass and took in the smell of the fresh air, feeling the sun beating down on their faces. Every once in a while, a butterfly would flutter above them, but often for only a second or two. Ron finally sat up, leaning on his elbow to face Harry.

“So how’d you open it?”

“I kidnapped Draco and kissed him by the gate,” Harry replied in a deadpan voice. He could feel Ron’s stare on the side of his face, almost like it was another sun.

“Mate, are you kidding?”

“Nope,” he once again replied. “I kissed him and it opened.”

“Have you been inside yet?” 

Harry shook his head, watching a cloud that faintly reminded him of the Hufflepuff mascot, the badger, roll across the sky. It’s head was slowly morphing into something different, and after a moment it had taken on a completely different shape. 

He hoisted himself up, sighing. “If you and ‘Mione aren’t busy tomorrow, I’d like to try.” 

Ron nodded. “Of course, mate. You could have told us earlier.” 

“I can’t have you two sacrificing your jobs for me.” He shrugged, pulling at a loose thread at the bottom of his jeans. “Besides,” he started, jokingly, “who else will take care of me when I’m old and crusty?” 

Ron tilted his head back and laughed. “Malfoy, probably,” he jested.

“Oh shove off,” Harry punched Ron in the arm. He checked his watch and then stood up. “I’ve got to go meet with Neville about his shop.” 

“Right,” Ron pushed himself up and helped Harry repack the basket, placing the neatly folded blanket on top. They walked back through the line of trees and took the path back to the gate, which had shut behind them. It began to open at the touch of Harry’s hand and they waited as it slowly, slowly, opened to the world. 

Harry definitely thought he needed to find a way to make the gate move faster, rather than spending a whole minute each time waiting for it to open wide enough for someone to slip through. He supposed some oil on the hinges might do the trick. Ron waved his goodbye before apparating and Harry followed suit short after, picnic basket in hand. 

When he arrived back at Grimmauld Place, he barely had time to set down the basket and grab the blueprints he made for Neville before he was apparating again, this time to Diagon Alley. Friday lunchtime seemed to be coming to an end, as the heels of businesswomen clacked down the paved alley hurriedly, followed by the thick steps from their male counterparts. Harry headed in the opposite direction of the flow of people, further in rather than out. He checked his watch again as he was passing Gringott’s. Sometimes apparating took longer than expected and he couldn’t be late. Well, he probably could, but he thought that rather rude.

After noticing he still had about twenty minutes to spare, he turned around and took the stairs up into Gringott’s two at a time. He hadn’t seen Draco since Monday, but they had written back and forth several times. Mostly about the manor’s defensive spells, but Harry tried to throw in something about how attractive he found the blonde or something along those lines in every letter. 

Harry only passed two people in the corridor on his way to Draco’s office, both of which were curse-breakers that were too busy speaking to each other in hushed whispers to pay any attention to him. All the better, he thought. He’s not sure Draco is ready to be seen with him in public quite yet. When he reached the door, he opened it without thinking, only to find someone else sitting in his usual seat. 

“Oops,” Harry automatically said as two pairs of eyes turned to him. The woman instantly recognized him, he could tell. Her expression moved from shocked to excited and then to something else that made him a little uncomfortable. “Uh...I’ll come back later, I think.”

Draco shot him a little glare and apologized to his client, then turned his attention back to Harry. “I’ll be with you in just a moment, Mister Potter.” 

Harry nodded and quickly shut the door before the woman could make any more eyes at him. Draco’s glare rivaled even Snape’s. He felt like he had just received a month’s worth of detention. He assumed Draco was just being professional and didn’t really appreciate how Harry kept barging in on his workdays, but then again, when it was just the two of them Draco never really seemed to mind. 

But they weren’t dating, technically, so Harry had to admit it was rude of him to appear so often and expect Draco to immediately be available. Draco had a job. A _great_ job, especially for what the Ministry called a “reformed Death Eater”. Harry couldn’t jeopardize that by being _Harry Potter_ and expecting the whole world to bow down. He didn’t _want_ the world to bow down. He wanted Draco to notice him, like him, go out with him. 

The wait wasn’t long, but he was growing more and more impatient by the minute. He tapped the tube of paper he was carrying against the wall in a rhythmic pattern out of boredom. After ten minutes, he’d resigned himself to just go to his meeting with Neville and he’d write Draco a letter explaining why he left. And, he thought, next time I’ll make an appointment. He checked his watch once again and sighed, pushing himself off the wall and beginning the walk back to the lobby. Halfway down, he heard the door open and both Draco and his client emerged. The woman hustled down the hallway, throwing Harry a sultry grin as she passed him. Harry eyed her warily and cleared his throat, gaze finally locking with Draco’s at the end of the hall. 

He and Draco stared at each other for a moment, not sure what was passing between them, but before he knew what he was doing, Harry rushed back down the hall, pushed at Draco’s chest, and slammed the office door shut. Draco let out a short, excited laugh that made Harry grin so wide he could feel his cheeks stretching and his eyes crinkling. He pulled Draco in, their smiles fading as they leaned closer and closer. His arms wrapped around Draco’s waist as they kissed, their lips slotting together just right and Draco letting out the most deliciously surprised noise. 

Minutes went by, Harry pressed up against the bookshelf, hands tightly gripping the back of Draco’s dress shirt, wrinkling it between his fingers. Draco’s tongue was insistent against Harry’s lips, prying its way inside. The blonde’s hand slid down to rest against Harry’s hip, thumb hooking into the waistband of his jeans. Harry attempted to pull Draco closer, but they were already pressed so tightly together that nothing changed. Harry had just had the thought to slip his hand down over Draco’s arse when there was a short knock on the door. They pulled apart, panting.

“One moment please!” Draco called, eyes a bit panicked. He immediately stepped back from Harry and tried to smooth out his shirt, conjuring up a mirror to fix his disheveled hair. When he looked like he hadn’t just been making out with Harry Potter for several minutes, he turned back to him and woefully said, “I’ve another client.” 

“Let’s have dinner tonight,” Harry blurted out, accidentally interrupting Draco. 

The blonde smirked, “We have dinner every night.” 

“Shut up. I meant together,” Harry emphasized, rolling his eyes. 

“Fine,” Draco agreed, pulling Harry in for one last peck before pushing him out the door. Harry nodded politely to Draco’s client as they passed each other, and then waited until the door was closed again to grin like a maniac. 

He absently ran a finger across his lips as he made his way out of Gringott’s and into the flood of people in Diagon Alley.

It had been quite a while since Harry had felt so… energized. He felt like he could handle five of the most intense quidditch practices in a row or start a charity or reinvent the wheel. Something big and magical and amazing. Part of him felt like he was starting a whole new life. Something about kissing Draco, having genuine fun with Draco, instead of the low-blow insults they had exchanged in what now felt like their previous lives. Something about that made Harry unconditionally cheerful.


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far! I've worked really hard on this fic and I appreciate any feedback! Hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

Neville’s shop was crowded when he got there, so much so that he caught several elbows to the ribs on his way from the door to the counter, blueprints held up high in the air, over everyone’s heads so that they didn’t get damaged. He could feel his mood start to change for the worse as people either whispered to their friends about being in the presence of Harry Potter or shot him angry glares over his lack of respect for the line. _I just need to get to the back office_ , he thought, somewhat irritatedly. When he could finally lay his hands on the counter, nodding at the harried looking cashier who looked like he could use a break, he launched himself over it and closed the door to the office behind himself. 

“Merlin, what’s got into those people?” he inquired while taking the seat opposite Neville’s desk. The other man was looking quite frazzled himself, typing away on a muggle calculator. 

“We launched the newest salve today,” Neville started, flipping over a few pieces of parchment while he read them, “bubotuber pus and shrivelfig leaves. Mostly for beauty purposes, but helps with healing as well.”

Harry, whose collection of Neville’s salves and solutions was steadily growing too big for the medicine cabinet in his loo, wondered if he’d be able to grab some before the crowd outside bought out the entire store. Before he could even finish the thought, however, Neville had set down his quill and smirked at him from across the desk. He gestured shortly to the corner of his desk.

“Yours is there, of course,” Neville told him, “you think I’d let them sell out and not save one for my number one customer?” 

Harry laughed as he reached for the canister, slightly embarrassed. He twisted open the cap and took a whiff, fully expecting it to be a slightly rancid smell like he’d known bubotuber pus to be. Instead, he got a very pleasant mix of citrus and floral scents that didn’t burn his nostrils like he’d thought it would. 

“Thanks, mate,” he said, slipping the canister into his pocket. “Maybe one day you’ll let me pay for it.” 

Neville shook his head. “Absolutely not. Can you imagine how awful it would look if I made Harry Potter, the boy who literally saved the entire universe, pay for something? The whole shop would be abandoned!” 

Normally when discussions over his “boy wonder” life happened, he got angry, but there was a little glint in Neville’s eye, a tiny little smile at the corner of his mouth, that told Harry that he was joking. Truly, Harry thanked his friends constantly for not trapping him on that pedestal that the rest of the public wanted him on. 

“I pay for stuff!” Harry defended.

“Not in the wizarding world, you don’t.” And it’s true. For the past five years, Harry had barely paid for a single thing when he went to Diagon Alley. He was guaranteed bottomless drinks at the Leaky, and ice cream for life when Fortescue’s reopened its doors. He was technically the main investor in the Weasley’s joke shop, but that’s already paid off with the amount of merchandise George sends him every month or two. Several times he resorted to sneakily paying for things. It didn’t seem fair that he got everything for free when he had plenty of gold to pay for it all. Especially when there were witches and wizards like the Weasley family who couldn’t afford much at all. 

Harry sighed and opened his mouth to speak, but Neville beat him to it. “I know, I know. You ‘didn’t ask for it’. What did you expect, Harry? For people to forget about Voldemort after all their friends and family were buried? Everyone is grateful for you, and you’ve already paid them back a thousand times over by defeating him and being alive.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Harry grumbled, laying the blueprints he’d been fidgeting with on the desk. 

The meeting went smoothly after that. Harry made minor adjustments to his sketches while Neville made a pot of tea and helped his worker in the store. Together, the two former Gryffindors laid out a doable plan for the new shop, somewhat similar to the one they were currently standing in. At last, Harry excused himself, rolling the prints up and bidding Neville adieu. 

The restaurant was packed, to put it simply. Harry had put their name in a half hour ago and they were still waiting for their table, shoulders pressed together as they squeezed into the only free space on the bench. Draco was becoming increasingly more impatient as he crossed his legs and sighed several times in the span of two minutes. Harry was rather relaxed, but he was steadily getting more worried that his date would end up bursting at the seams before they were even sat.

This was a date, right? He had asked Draco out for dinner after they’d made out in his office for quite some time, so that was the assumption. He’d specifically chosen this semi-fancy muggle restaurant so they wouldn’t be recognized and they could dine in peace, but with every ticking minute gone by, it seemed to be falling apart. 

He should have planned better. Called and set up a reservation instead of taking his chances. Or maybe he should have gone to a magical restaurant, where he knew he’d be seated right away with no hesitation.

Draco sighed again next to him, tapping his fingers on his knee rhythmically. Harry looked at the blonde. His hair was voluminous on top of his head, swooped back from his forehead but not caked down with gel like it was at Hogwarts. His lips turned downward slightly and his eyebrows raised every time the host gave them an updated wait time. He groaned in frustration a couple of times, but mostly it was sighs and body language that told Harry he was sick of waiting. He looked beautiful despite his mood and every time Harry saw his fingers move he wanted to grab that hand and hold it. He agonized over that for a few moments before mentally saying “Bugger it”, reached over, and pulled Draco’s hand into his own. 

Draco’s foot stopped shaking from impatience immediately and his hand gripped Harry’s just as tight. Harry, who had barely looked away in the past five minutes, watched a small smile form on Draco’s lips and pledged himself right there to make Draco smile all the time until the end of history and forever. It was beautiful and contagious. 

The date was terrible. After a good forty-five minutes of waiting they were finally sat, and it took another hour just to get their food. Harry had tried to order wine as a romantic gesture, and ordered the most disgusting wine in the entire world, according to Draco. Then he accidentally spilled it all over the table and into his own lap. And the food was honestly just god awful, Draco had very loudly informed everyone that was around them of that. 

Harry had the best time of his life.

“Well that was the worst date in history,” Draco said casually, grinning down at Harry despite his proclamation. Their hands swung between them as they walked, no destination in mind. 

“So it was a date,” Harry confirmed, laughing lightheartedly. “I liked it.”

Draco stopped in his tracks and turned towards the shorter man, an eyebrow raised in skepticism. “Were we on the same date? Everything went wrong, you know. The wine, the food, that waitress that was flirting with you the entire time? And having to wait for a table like that?” Draco exclaimed, “That was the worst part! Having to watch other people enjoy their meals while we were packed in like sardines, honestly!” 

Harry’s smile didn’t falter. “Pretty fitting for us, I’d argue. Draco, I don’t really care how the date went or what happened during it. I got to hold your hand and make you smile and that’s all that matters to me.” 

Draco just stared at him for a moment before scoffing and continuing their walk. “I didn’t realize how sappy you are when you’ve had wine.” 

“Can you blame me?” 

The blonde didn’t answer, just took Harry’s hand in his again and led him down the path. Eventually, they turned a corner and Harry immediately recognized where they were. On either side was number eleven and thirteen, but Harry waved his wand and number 12 Grimmauld Place appeared before them. 

Harry turned to face Draco. “Come in?”

Draco agreed and before he knew it, he was ushered in, pushed down into a soft chair, and had a nice glass of goblin wine in his hand. Harry sat on the floor between Draco’s knees, sipping his own glass and sighing when he felt Draco’s fingers run through his hair. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, feeling utterly relaxed. 

The bottle that sat next to Harry was slowly drained into each of their glasses until there wasn’t a single drop left. The two men were quite drunk. Draco couldn’t stop rubbing the velvet fabric of the chair he was sitting in and finally leaned over to rest his cheek against it. 

“Mm,” he grumbled, muffled by the chair in his face, “soft.” Harry barked out a laugh in response, probably too loud for the situation and pretty much unwarranted as what Draco had said wasn’t even funny. He lightly wrapped his hand around Draco’s ankle, not pulling or gripping, just feeling. The soft hairs caressed his fingers as his thumb moved to trace circles around Draco’s ankle bone. 

The room was quiet for a while as Draco began to doze off, light, half-snores emitting from his mouth. Harry sighed as he stared at his reflection in the dark muggle television. The fire was burning out and Harry watched as his own green eyes grew dimmer in the reflection until the whole room was near pitch black. 

If this had happened several years ago, Harry would be too weirded out to stick around in the dark room. He would have stoked the fire, illuminated every candle, just to feel some semblance of life in the house. Now he could honestly say he felt comfortable in every room. He wasn’t being stared at by the heads of Black family house elves or creepy portraits of distant relatives, and Kreacher didn’t roam the halls as much, scaring Harry when he appeared in a room with a loud Crack! It was better now. 

After sitting for an hour, unable to sleep despite the rhythmic sound of Draco’s breathing, Harry stood up. The alcohol was still coursing through his system, but he was slightly more stable than he had been and he debated whether he wanted to carry Draco to the bed in the guest room or just crash on the couch across from him.

He compromised with himself and hoisted Draco into his arms, depositing him on the couch before he made the long trek up to his bedroom.


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the comments and kudos! i really appreciate it and hope you guys like this update.

Morning came and nearly passed before Harry was prodded awake by a gruesome face. Kreacher was standing over him on his bed, face inches from Harry’s. He merely groaned, too used to the elf’s strange actions.

“Master Draco would like Kreacher to tell Master Potter that he is leaving,” the elf recited, climbing down off the bed and waiting. 

Harry heaved a gigantic sigh and threw the covers off himself, taking a moment to sit on the edge of his bed before he committed to touching his feet to the cold floor. He pushed himself up and pulled on the pair of pants he’d worn last night, shuffling out into the hallway and down the stairs. Draco had a scarf wrapped around his neck, despite it still being mid-summer outside, and Harry found a small, sheepish smile for him.

Draco’s hair was unkempt, sticking up at odd angles that didn’t suit his face very well. Harry briefly remembered tangling his fingers in that hair and tugging on it while they snogged heavily the night before. The blonde’s shirt was untucked, wrinkled beyond belief, and his eyes were tired, but alight with something Harry couldn’t quite place. Maybe it had just been a trick of the light. He only had one sock on, which seemed pretty odd considering he definitely had two last night. Harry couldn’t think of where the other might have gone, but the thought of Draco leaving something behind made him slightly giddy. If he found it, he had a reason to visit. An excuse to show up at Draco’s house or work and possibly get another snogging session in before he had to leave. Harry told himself he’d look for it later.

“Hi,” he finally croaked out, alarmed by the amount of sleep in his voice. His feet slid across the hardwood floor, a profound lazy feeling preventing him from picking them up properly. When he reached Draco, he threw his arms around the taller man’s neck and planted a sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Won’t you stay for breakfast?” 

“It’s nearly lunch,” Draco smiled down at him, a genuine, if not sleepy, smile that made Harry’s heart melt. As kids, Draco’s expressions mostly consisted of mirth and hatred, but seeing his eyes crinkle around a goofy grin that he strictly reserved for when he was alone with Harry made him want to faint. Harry couldn’t remember what his life was like before that smile, before seeing genuine happiness on Draco’s face. Draco’s cheeks always bulged out when he did it, and many times they flushed red when he saw Harry looking. But to tell the truth, Harry could never stop looking. He was quickly becoming a man obsessed, watching Draco’s eyes light up and his frown lines practically disappear. He had vowed on their first official date to make Draco smile as much as he could, and he mentally extended the vow indefinitely. He’d make the blonde show those teeth one way or another, everyday for the rest of his life if he needed to. 

“Lunch then,” Harry confirmed, fingers pulling softly at the hairs at the nape of Draco’s neck. 

Draco leaned in for a proper kiss despite both of their lack of brushed teeth, hands splayed on Harry’s waist. When they pulled apart, Draco’s eyes glanced past Harry’s head before returning. “You know your elf has been watching us this whole time,” he informed, a lazy smirk appearing and making Harry weak in the knees. 

“Kreacher,” Harry started, turning his head to peer at the elf who was unabashedly staring at them with his large black eyes from the top of the staircase. “Could you start lunch?”

The elf grumbled and began his slow descent down the stairs, gripping onto the handrail to keep himself upright. He could be heard whispering and grunting to himself as he passed the interlocked couple- were they a couple?- but the two men paid no mind, returning to their moment together.

“Don’t you have quidditch practice?” 

“I’ll skive off.”

Draco scoffed, pressing a light kiss to Harry’s forehead and backing away. “Don’t lose your position on my behalf,” he teased. 

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Came Harry’s joking voice, unlocking his fingers from behind Draco’s head and sliding his hands down to the blonde’s chest. “You’re dating the great Harry Potter. You know, that guy that saved the entire wizarding world? Heroes don’t lose their quidditch spots.” 

Draco rolled his eyes so hard he feared they would get stuck. “Full of yourself, are you?”

Maybe it was the fact that he’d just woken up, or that he was still thinking about that damned sock he needed to find so he could snog Draco again, but Harry nearly said _I’d rather be full of something else_. Luckily he still maintained some form of self control and quickly came up with an alternative response.

“Only when you’re around,” was his verbal reply. It was said in the same jesting tone as before, but had some sort of finality to it as well. Seriousness. They didn’t dwell like that, however, as Harry quickly spoke again, “I’ll go to practice if you have lunch.”

“Deal,” Draco agreed, following when Harry turned and entered the kitchen. 

Practice was utterly boring that day. The coach, a portly man that huffed and puffed just to get to center pitch, instructed them to run laps to “keep their figures”. Harry zoned out while doing so, thoroughly missing Draco and wishing he could run straight out of the pitch to the nearest apparition point. Instead, he finished off his laps after every other member of his team, hit the showers, and went back home. 

Hermione flooed in hours later while Harry was being a self-proclaimed lazy slob. All he wore were joggers and an oversized t-shirt that was either one of Dudley’s hand-me-downs or one he’d stretched out so much it could now fit two of him. He was lounging on the couch, one leg swung over the back and the other foot firmly on the floor. A bag of crisps sat on the floor next to his hanging arm, nearly empty.

When he’d heard Hermione enter, he adjusted his posture, pulling his leg off the back of the couch and sitting up. “Hey,” he greeted her as she bustled around, setting down her bag and taking off her traveling cloak. “Did you just get off shift?” 

“No, Kingsley wanted to have lunch because he,” she threw up two air quotes, “‘found out about Ron and I’s anniversary last week’. I told him it’s really okay, but he insisted.”

“And he didn’t invite Ron? Is he still dropping hints that he wants you to replace him?”

Hermione sighed and plopped on the sofa by Harry’s feet. “More than ever. And I don’t know why considering I’m less than qualified for it.” 

“If anyone could be a better minister than you, I’d eat my hat,” Harry told her seriously, offering the bag of crisps. She delicately took one and then nibbled on the edge of it.

“Yeah, well…” She deflected, busying herself by examining the crisp between her fingers. Harry just watched her for a moment as she seemed to think very hard about something.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” He asked, leaning forward to set the bag down on the low table. 

She nodded quickly. “Yes, I think so. Oh! I’d almost forgotten why I came over. Ron said you wanted us to join you at the manor today.”

The question caught him by surprise. “I… I guess I forgot about that, to be honest.” He chuckled softly, realizing that he hadn’t thought about the manor since he’d left it the previous day. The past 24 hours had been unstoppable, meeting with Neville and his date with Draco and then lunch earlier that day had made him completely forget about what he’d been obsessing over for the last month. “I’ve been a bit distracted.”

“By Malfoy?”

Harry groaned and threw an arm over his eyes, letting himself fall back into the couch cushions. “Did Ron tell you?”

“I could have figured it out on my own,” she quickly defended, and then softly, “but yes Ron told me.” 

“I’m going to hex him, you know,” and he plunged his hand into the depths of the couch and found his wand, giving it a useless wave. “He’s worse than the Prophet.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well you two weren’t exactly discreet. I’m surprised the Prophet hasn’t gotten wind of it, considering several people saw you and Malfoy holding hands in Diagon Alley.”

“I was quite sloshed,” he admitted, finally making eye contact with his friend. 

“Well anyway,” she changed the subject quickly, “do you want to go tonight?”

“Er...yeah, I suppose,” Harry replied, pushing himself off the couch. “I’ll go change.” He shuffled to the landing and heard Hermione vanish the nearly empty bag of chips. 

By the time he returned, Ron had arrived and was just brushing the ash off of his cloak, the green flare of the fireplace dying down behind him. 

Everything was the same. The gate opened at his touch, the trees and plants lit up, the sun shone down on the long, narrow pathway to the front door, and that feeling of glee returned in Harry’s chest. He felt like his heart grew three sizes every time he walked through that gate.

They made their way up the path, taking their time and admiring the views. Harry was grateful for his best friends, allowing him to take it slow. The closer they got to the front door, the more his palms sweat, the harder his jaw clenched. Before he knew it, they were standing there, on the stoop, and he was reaching for the handle. He gripped it firmly and turned his wrist.

They walked into ruin. The grand entryway was littered with shards of glass, which seemed to be due to the ceiling cracking, sending the chandelier falling to the floor below. Half of it still hung from one long chain. The staircase was missing several planks of wood, and the paint was so chipped and faded that it honestly looked rotted through. Despite his contracting experience, Harry walked over and set his foot on the first stair; however, when he leaned forward to take the next stair, he heard a deep crack and his foot fell through the first. He pulled his foot out of the stair and brushed the splinters off his pant leg. Windows on either side of the room were cracked or shattered, and one window was completely gone, frame and everything. Harry felt a soft breeze hit him when he approached the window, and he sneezed. A thick layer of dust covered the place. The fireplace was a disaster. It looked as though bricks had been pried from the wall, compromising the structure so much that the rest of it collapsed in on itself. Harry walked over to it and prodded at a few of the broken pieces, crouching down. A large cabinet leaned dangerously on an angle, one of the legs having broken off. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he made his way back to Ron and Hermione.

A house elf appeared in front of them with a loud crack, and then squealed at the sight of him. “Master Harry Potter, sir!” She curtsied low, her floral printed tea cloth dragging across the floor. “I is Bippy, Master’s elf! I is yours to command!”

Harry whirled around, staring at Hermione and Ron with a mixture of shock and panic on his face. When his friends offered up no help at all, he turned back. “Erm…Bippy? How long have you been here?” The elf made a delighted noise at the sound of her name and sunk into another curtsy.

“Bippy is being here for her whole life, sir! Bippy remembers when Master James was just an infant!” Harry’s heart wrenched.

“James....Right…” He was at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing every so often, but void of sound. 

Hermione stepped forward. “Could you make us some tea, Bippy?”

Bippy vanished on the spot, the resounding crack ringing in Harry’s ears.

Harry slid a hand through his hair several times. He wanted to run, run as fast and far as he could until his lungs were fighting for air and he couldn’t go any further. But Harry had never really been that kind of person. Gryffindor blood rushed through his veins and kept him rooted to the spot, awaiting a house elf he’d never met before.

Ron gave him a wary look, then patted Harry’s shoulder a couple of times before resting his hand there briefly. “You don’t have to stay, mate.”

He felt his shoulders loosen at the friendly touch and he sagged slightly, wondering when his best friend had become so perceptive. “I’m okay. It’s a lot to take in.”

“We know,” Hermione said softly, giving him a meaningful hug. “You just have to take your time.”

Bippy popped back into existence, startling all three of them as she set the tray on the dusty floor. 

“Thank you,” Harry quietly said, making the elf curtsy again. “Bippy, could you tell me how long the house has looked like this?” 

Bippy’s large, black eyes welled up with tears. “Master has been gone for many years. Lolly and Mufty passed. Bippy has been unable to clean.” She began to sob, thick tears rolling off her cheeks and being absorbed into the layer of dust on the floor. 

“It’s okay,” Harry replied quickly, “it’s not your fault.” Bippy wiped her tears away, sniffling. 

“Master is gracious,” Bippy said at last in a shaking voice. She composed herself and proclaimed, “Bippy will make biscuits!” and popped out of the foyer once more. 

Harry spelled a large circle of dust away and sat heavily on the floor, leaning forward to pour the tea. Hermione and Ron joined him and drank in silence. The biscuits came and went as did his thoughts. He wondered how much effort it would take to redo the place, as it clearly has seen enough destruction that even ancient household magic couldn’t fix it as soon as Harry walked in the door. And it did not go unnoticed by Harry that all the damage could not possibly be simply because of a lack of dusting. Something happened there. And Bippy was the key.

Ron, Hermione, and Harry said their goodbyes to Bippy and the manor house nearly an hour later, Harry with the vow to return and not only investigate but try to clean up the place and see what he would be working with. He wasn’t going to let the house sit and look like that. Especially knowing that he himself was capable of getting the place up and running. 

He’d not really been interested in becoming an Auror after their eighth year at Hogwarts, but that didn’t mean he would let something like this slide. He was determined to discover what happened in what he thought would be one of the safest places someone could be, full of long lost memories and decades worth of protective magic. Though, logically, he conceded, some of those spells most likely disappeared when their owners died, much like Dumbledore’s had released him when he’d fallen from the Astronomy Tower. Still, curiosity got the best of him and he was determined to know.


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof guys i wrote a whole lot today and it's crazy but hopefully this chapter makes you guys happy like it made me and sorry it's been so long since updating! school's about to start and college really is hell let me tell you but stay in school cause it's supposed to be worth it (we'll see) anyway yikes i'm sleep deprived love you goodnight

Harry apparated to the Burrow the next evening. Despite his newfound home full of memories from his parents, grandparents, and beyond, he wasn’t going to give up on the family he’d had since he was eleven. It just wasn’t done. Plus he could never give up Molly’s treacle tart. He was weak.

The Weasleys had some general inquiries about Harry’s house, now they all knew he’d been inside, but quickly moved on to Ginny’s most recent accomplishment- reserve seeker for the Holyhead Harpies. Harry briefly wondered if there would be a Sunday dinner at the Burrow in which one of them did not have some sort of announcement and celebration. Indeed, just last week Molly had announced that her carrot crop was ready to be harvested and Arthur broke out a bottle of mead just for that. He couldn’t blame them; they had many things to be proud of, especially their children. 

The group chatted away happily over wine glasses that drained and refilled over the course of the meal. Harry always felt an ache in his heart when he came back to this house with his family. They were his family. They would never _not_ be his family. But he ached for his parents to be sitting across from him at this table. He wanted to see his father’s unkempt hair, possibly greying by now were he alive, and his mother’s easy grin, smile lines creasing her cheeks. He wanted to talk to them, be comforted by them, hear all the family gossip and stories of the past. He wanted to know his family. 

An elbow to the ribs ripped him out of his thoughts and he looked to Ginny who sat next to him. She just stared back. His gaze moved around the table, noticing everyone watching him in anticipation. The sudden focus of attention on him made his palms sweat and he smiled nervously. “What’s happening?” he dared to ask, trying to nonchalantly wipe the sweat that had gathered at his brow. 

George took a long sip of his wine and then leaned forward, enunciating clearly as if he had slurred his words the first time. “I said, ‘So, Harry, how’s Malfoy?’”

Harry flushed and broke eye contact with George. “He’s fine,” he mumbled, not really ashamed but not exactly thrilled to have his love life broadcast to the entirety of the Weasley family, though he had to admit they hadn’t exactly been hiding the fact that they had been spending quite a bit of time together in the last few weeks. He knew the Weasleys loved him but he was sure they had some residual qualms about the Malfoy family. He just hoped he could convince them that Draco wasn’t like his father. Not that Harry even knew that much about Draco’s family life of late.

Molly, having had several glasses of wine by now, was less than delicate when she asked the next question. “Are you and he together?”

He held eye contact with his mother figure and answered honestly, “I’m not sure.” When her face contorted into one of confusion, he added, “We’ve been spending some time together recently, but haven’t exactly had a conversation about it. We’re…dating.”

“Well I think it’s wonderful that you’re putting yourself out there Harry darling,” she replied with finality, shocking Harry into silence by her easy acceptance. She hadn’t exactly been pleased when he told her he was gay, probably holding onto some hope that he and Ginny would end up together, but it only took her a day or two to come around. He was grateful as the conversation veered in another direction now.

At the end of the night, Harry shook hands with Arthur and kissed Molly on the cheek before apparating back home with yet another promise to himself that he’d talk to Draco soon, and hopefully about the nature of their relationship.

Monday morning left Harry stirring in bed, throwing the blanket over his head to block out the bright sun shining straight through the window. Somehow the square of light hit his face perfectly every single morning.

“You really should invest in some curtains.”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, instinctively grabbing his wand from under his pillow and throwing the blanket back off his face. He squinted in the darkness of the room, only general shapes visible without his glasses. 

“Watch where you’re pointing that, if you don’t mind.” The familiar voice spoke again, not even approaching the bed so Harry could actually see him.

“Draco?” He asked, though it was pretty obvious. His wards only allowed Hermione, Draco, and the whole Weasley family without his permission. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping it didn’t look too wild but knowing it did. “What are you doing here at…” he trailed off, casting a quick _Tempus_ , and continuing, “seven in the morning?” 

“You should be thanking me. That elf of yours was muttering about throwing a pitcher of water over you while you were sleeping.”

Draco finally stepped forward into the light, but Harry could still only see his outline. He leaned over the side of the bed to reach his glasses and shoved them on his face. “He’s done it before. He’s senile. I keep telling myself to let him go because he doesn’t do anything around here, not that I really need him to, but I think he’d have a stroke if I did. I feel bad for him.”

Draco rolled his eyes and watched the top of the sheet slide from Harry’s chest down to pool in his lap. Harry suddenly felt self-conscious, cursing himself for deciding to sleep naked last night and was tempted to cover himself back up, not that anything particularly indecent was on display. Draco stared for several long seconds before schooling his face as though there wasn’t a hungry blaze in his eye. “Get dressed, I’m making breakfast.” 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he watched Draco’s retreating silhouette, but summoned a pair of joggers and a loose t-shirt from his wardrobe. 

When he arrived on the landing outside the kitchen, Kreacher was lingering by the doorway, muttering about ungrateful Malfoys. This made Harry smile and he walked straight in to see a mug of hot tea floating towards his head. He grabbed it out of the air and took a tentative sip. “So you just came for breakfast?” He asked casually, taking a seat at the table. Draco didn’t reply, and didn’t seem as if he intended to, yet Harry waited for it all the same. After several silent minutes, Harry pulled the book he’d been reading over breakfast for the last month closer. It was just some fictitious wizarding novel with a predictable plot, but it still entertained him nonetheless.

After nearly a half hour, Draco set two plates on the table, one in front of Harry. Harry responded by laying down his book and smiling gratefully up at Draco. “Thanks.” Draco stood for a moment longer, staring at Harry’s face and seemed to be considering something. He finally leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Harry’s cheek before sitting in front of his own plate.

Harry could tell something was up. He wasn’t sure what was coming, but he hoped it wasn’t as serious as the negative thoughts that had immediately sprung to his head. What if Draco didn’t want to spend time with him anymore? Nothing was really official yet, but Harry could already feel the disappointment that would come from it. But if Draco had intended on not-quite breaking up with him, why would he kiss his cheek and make him breakfast? Or maybe Harry just wasn’t good enough for him. He hadn’t exactly chose the best place for their dates- a pub and a restaurant with terrible service and worse wine. Maybe he was fucking all of this up. It’s not as if he had much dating experience to begin with, just that one disastrous one with Cho in fifth year, a couple with Ginny before they decided they should remain friends, and the one with that Muggle bloke on his construction crew a couple of years ago. All of which weren’t exactly his best, most romantic moments. Yet he could already feel despite their terrible dates that Draco was different than all the rest of them. He just felt different about where they were going.

Harry focused on trying to read Draco’s face, but Draco was looking straight down at his plate and merely frowning at it. 

“Draco-” he began.

“So-” Draco started at the same time, facing Harry when he heard him speak as well. Harry gave him a smile to signal he could speak first. “I wanted to let you know that my mother has been my best friend for my whole life and I have never kept a secret from her, and I do not want to start. With your permission, I’d like to tell her about us.” He sounded incredibly formal, as if he were speaking to a colleague about some files that needed transferred. 

“Us?” Harry asked, because he hadn’t really realized there was officially an ‘ _us_ ’. He wanted to grin. No, he wanted to jump up from the table and scream from the rooftops that he and Draco were together. He wanted one of those Muggle contraptions he’s seen at protests in downtown London, the ones like the Sonorus charm that make their voices louder and more grating and more annoying. He wanted to tell everyone he crossed paths with on the street, stranger or not. He wanted to kiss Draco in public, in private, wherever they wanted. He even, dare he say it, wanted to see what kind of reaction the Prophet would have if they found out. He wanted to see himself smiling and happy with Draco Malfoy on the front cover of an admittedly speculative newspaper, but he didn’t care. He wanted them to be seen together everywhere and he didn’t want to hide it.

Draco nodded. “We haven’t exactly avoided being seen together, yet somehow the Prophet hasn’t gotten wind of it. Still, I would rather my mother find out from me than a newspaper.” Harry had to use all the muscles in his face to keep his expression casual instead of grinning like a loon. After studying his face for a moment, Draco seemed to force himself to continue, “She deserves to know what’s happening. I would feel a lot better if I could-”

“Tell her,” Harry interrupted, with finality. 

“Tell her,” Draco finished, staring curiously across the table. “Yeah?” he asked after a second. Harry just nodded and forked a huge chunk of egg into his mouth.

The smile that stretched across Draco’s face was blinding and contagious. Harry felt his cheeks burning from being stretched so wide. The fact that Draco felt comfortable enough to talk to him about his mother and ask his permission to tell her about them felt like a huge accomplishment, despite Harry previously being unsure about whether there was a _them_ to discuss. 

Twenty minutes later their plates were cleared and Harry had just finished scrubbing the last fork, setting it delicately on a towel next to the sink to dry. Wiping his hands off on a separate towel, he turned back to the table to find Draco watching him with a small smile, head resting on the palm of one of his hands. Harry hung the towel up without breaking eye contact and then asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” came the very unhelpful reply.

“Tell me,” Harry said as he stepped closer to where Draco was sitting.

Draco watched him, waiting until Harry was a mere inches away from him to respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and slightly vulnerable, though he’d never admit it. “Thank you.”

Harry could feel his grin go sappy and part of him wanted to kick himself for it, but he couldn’t really help that Draco basically turned him into a huge caldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria every time he so much as smiled at him. It was all Draco’s fault really. Harry wasn’t sure why, but he had never been this affected by anyone he’d dated before. He’d been attracted to them, sure, but never had he felt so undone by a single facial expression until Draco came into the picture.

“Should I… D’you think I should come with you? To tell her I mean?”

Draco shook his head, “Not necessary. I know she’ll be happy.” He paused. “Can’t say the same for my father, however.” 

Harry stiffened. In the month or so they’d been seeing each other, Draco hadn’t mentioned his father once, and Harry hadn’t asked. For the past couple of years, Harry had been making a valiant effort to let go, to forgive what happened during the war. But Lucius Malfoy was one area in which he was struggling. It wasn’t as though Harry was scared of the man, but-- hell, Harry was scared of him. Lucius had tried to kill him on several occasions to please Voldemort, or even please his son at the time, and maybe Harry hadn’t quite gotten over it. Especially now that Harry was certain he and Lucius would cross paths again at one point or another. He was a little apprehensive.

Slightly cold fingers wrapped around Harry’s wrist, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Hey,” Draco said softly, “I don’t have to tell him, but I know my mother will.”

“Are you sure he… er, won’t come after me when he finds out you’re not destined to marry the pureblood woman they’ve chosen for you?”

Draco’s eyes darkened critically, fingers tightening around Harry’s wrist. “He couldn’t if he tried. He’d have to go through the entirety of wizarding Britain to get to you. And he’d have to go through me.”

Harry felt a shiver climbing slowly up his spine, as if it possessed legs that propelled itself using every bone as another step. He didn’t like when people vowed to protect him. Especially considering many of those that did died at some point in the war, and considering a vicious enemy had been looming over their heads, overpowering them for years and it seemed as if only Dumbledore’s protection was effective enough. Though that hadn’t lasted nearly long enough. But something about Draco’s words made him feel more safe than he ever had, even when he’d been staying at the Burrow. 

Draco’s legs were crossed as he sat, but as Harry nudged the topmost knee, he let his crossed leg fall back to flat. Harry seated himself in his lap, one hand sliding up Draco’s neck to cup his jaw while the other rested lightly on Draco’s ribs, careful not to wrinkle his work shirt. For a few moments, they just rested their foreheads together, breathing quietly, staring into each other’s eyes. Harry finally leaned in and pressed his lips to Draco’s, tilting his head ever so that their lips slotted together nicely. Draco sighed into the kiss, his tense shoulders falling into a relaxed position as Harry parted his lips. 

Harry gave his jogger-clad arse a purposeful wiggle in Draco’s lap and the blonde responded by growling into the kiss, taking Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth lightly. He pulled away for no more than a second to say, “Don’t-- fuck, I’m going to be late…” They reestablished their kiss and Harry did it again, smirking with Draco’s breath hitched. Draco’s fingers, tangled in Harry’s hair, tightened their hold and Harry pressed further against him, not willing to let go just yet. In a perfect world Draco could skive off work and they could spend the day on the couch, snogging until their jaws went slack or rutting against each other until oversensitivity forced them to stop. 

This was not a perfect world. But it was damn near close, in Harry’s opinion. 

He gave Draco’s bottom lip one last nip and forced himself to pull away. “Thanks ever so,” Draco said after they caught their breath, a lilt of annoyance present in his voice. Harry pressed one last kiss to Draco’s red and swollen lips before getting off Draco, pulling the blonde to his feet in the same motion. Draco adjusted his trousers before giving Harry a withering look that he didn’t mean.

Harry couldn’t resist. He leaned back in for another kiss and Draco complied, though only for a couple seconds before pulling away. “Come back tonight,” Harry whispered, voice deeper than he expected it to sound, “I’ll make it up to you.” 

Draco apparated off to work with a sharp _Crack!_ and Harry resigned himself to complete his tasks for the day.


End file.
